A study in tight leather trousers and stripping
by InvisibleBlade
Summary: tashaturtletwentytwo prompted me : alternate meeting: pole dancing sherlock OR sherlock riding a motorbike (in hopefully very tight leather trousers)


**DISCLAIMER:** **I don't own these characters. I do love to write about them however. **

**A/N: This is written based on a prompt IO received on tumblr : tashaturtletwentytwo said: alternate meeting: pole dancing sherlock OR sherlock riding a motorbike (in hopefully very tight leather trousers) I sort of mashed these two idea up. I hope you all enjoy. Don't forget to leave a review. I'm always looking for constructive feedback.**

**Warning: This does contain Johnlock smut and John does have suicidal ideations at the very start. But that's only very brief and Sherlock comes along and brightens up things.**

* * *

Dead.

That's how John feels nowadays. He sighed heavily as he looked up at the sky laden with thick rain clouds and thought of the tiny flat that he was temporarily living in. It was small and the silence constantly drowned him. It filled his lungs, his thoughts, his whole being. The silence to a man such as John Watson was painful. He was a soldier. He was used to the screams of men dying and to the sound of bullets hitting the air, and sometimes human flesh. He felt crippled in every sense of the word. He was slowly becoming drained by the constant quiet, and gut wrenching loneliness that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

His thoughts drifted to the gun safely locked away in his dingy, little flat. Of course it was only safely locked away whilst John wanted it to stay that way…things could always change. His eyes wondered to his cane and then across to his trembling hand. He could barely stop the pathetic whimper that left his trembling lips. John found himself deciding something in that moment, because really this was no existence for any man to live in, especially not a soldier who had fought for his country. He was living but he was not alive. He led a dull, painfully lonely, and sad excuse of a life and he wanted that to change. So, the good doctor decided that if he didn't find something worth living for today, something brilliant and wonderful, and something to add a dash of colour and noise back into his life, he was going to go home and kill himself. It was as simple as that.

He could almost hear his mother scolding him for taking the cowardly way out, and his older sister egging him on to just do the deed and get it over with. He and his sister didn't get on. His mother was dead. He listened to neither voice. If he was going to do this then he'd do it for himself.

He sighed loudly as he felt rather than acknowledged someone barging past him. Was he seriously invisible? Or did he have something written on him that screamed 'I'm a doormat. Please come and walk all over me!'? He snapped out of his thoughts at once as a deep baritone voice said something near his ear. He jumped at the sight of the tall, dashing stranger now looking at him with concern. Long, slender fingers were wrapped around his shoulder (his good shoulder luckily; otherwise John would have made quite the public scene and that would have been more than a bit not good seeing as the stranger was so utterly dishy.) "Are you ok?"

It took John a minute to process the question. He nodded dumbly as his eyes studied the stranger. He was younger than John by a good few years and youthful by all accounts. He had that sort of rugged boyish yet manly look going on. His eyes were so many shades of blue, greens, and yellows that for a long while John found himself staring into them in an attempt to figure out what their true colour was, but they kept on flickering and shifting from one colour to the next so pinpointing their definite colour was impossible. At one point they pooled into a light silver colour and John felt his heart speeding up in his chest as he fell into them like a moth being dragged towards a bright light. "I'm sorry-" He managed to say. His voice came out sounding oddly strange and he felt like a complete idiot.

"It's quite alright. I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm in a bit of a rush you see. " Luckily it would seem the stranger was far more amused about the whole situation than John was. John's eyes traced the younger man's lips. They were currently pulled up into a smirk and God dammit John hadn't ever come across such a perfect pair of lips before. They were plump, rosy pink, and carved to perfection. If John had been a few years younger he might have even dared to kiss those lips right this minute. John swallowed thickly. He had to remember who he was now. Being a solider had changed him. He'd come back both feeling old and looking far older than his age too. His skin was tanned and tough, and he probably had hundreds of frown lines from the really bad days he'd lived through. He hadn't looked in a mirror for fear of what he might see. He could only imagine how weathered down he looked.

The stranger on the other hand…

He was beautiful in that way that almost made him seem unreal. His cheek bones were so sharp that John imagined it would be so easy to cut yourself on them.

_I bet you'd love to try your hand at that wouldn't you Watson_, a small voice inside of his head purred.

_Shh_, he growled at the voice and squashed it down till it was only an annoying whisper at the back of his mind that he could easily ignore.

He was now appreciating the thick, bouncy curls that fell onto the strangers face. They made him seem even more youthful and even a little bit mysterious, especially when some of his curls ran amuck, leaving several random errant curls to spring over his forehead. Though that was just adorable. He kind of looked like a ruffled up kitten. John giggled before mentally slapping himself. He must have looked like an utter moron laughing randomly. He didn't bother questioning why he was bothered about looking like an idiot in front of a man that he'd only just met and would probably never see again. He just felt completely awkward right now. He felt like he was being judged.

When John finally snapped back into focus he noticed the tall man gazing at him, a curious eyebrow raised, his eyes squinted in such a way that it made him look even more kitten like. It was torture not to burst out into laughter. But he soon forgot all about the laughter threatening to break free when he saw the man move forwards and heard a husky whisper of "Follow me." Right then John Watson would have been quite happy for the pavement to have swallowed him whole for his cheeks boiled a blazing red.

The curly haired man smirked and with a cheeky wink turned on the spot and began to walk away from John. John's heart stopped at the sight of the man walking away. The man was clad in some of the tightest fitting leather biker clothes John had ever seen. How had he not noticed what the man was wearing? Perhaps he'd been a little too focused on those lips and cheekbones to notice the perfect, little arse crammed into some of the hottest and most arousing leather trousers known to man. John swallowed thickly. The man hadn't looked back but he had stopped to waggle his hips in such a way that John was almost certain it was an invitation of some sort, but he knew that he was probably reading way too far into things.

John had a decision to make. He either followed to the mysterious man to god know where, where goodness know what could happen, or he could go back to his mundane little life. In the end John realised there was no choice; not when this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him since his return to London. Without thinking into it any further he began hobbling after the fast retreating stranger, his heart dropping in his chest every time he lost sight of him, only to rise once more when he noticed the man stopping and waiting for him to catch up.

By the time they'd reached their destination John was feeling physically exhausted. He'd lost a lot of stamina since he'd been relieved from the army. It was completely frustrating. He must have looked like a right sight; huffing and panting with bright red cheeks whilst hobbling along with a cane. When he looked up at the place the man had stopped outside he felt the last drop of his energy reserve leave him. It was one of the seediest strip clubs this side of London. He stared at the door wide eyed.

"Problem?" The younger man asked, his currently greeny-blue eyes observing him humorously.

"No- uh-"John struggled to find the right words. "I'm, um, just a little old for this don't you think?" He laughed awkwardly, trying to laugh the whole thing off, but really John simply looked at those grubby doors leading into the club and felt completely out of place. Maybe he would have gotten away with attending a strip club in his teen years, but now? It seemed a little ridiculous to John. No. It seemed a whole lot ridiculous.

"You're only as old as you feel."

John had to actually wipe away a large dollop of drool that had escaped his mouth as he saw the strangers eyes wondering over his body. He mentally slapped himself. What was he? A teenage girl? He certainly felt like one right now, held under the heavy influence of a gorgeous man.

"I feel pretty old." John chuckled softly, looking down at the ground.

He didn't get a reply instead he heard a thud and a gentle click. When he looked up the brunette man was gone. With a reluctant sigh John opened the door and stepped inside. He should of course have turned around right then but something about his beautiful stranger had peaked his interest. More than his interest it would seem as he felt a slight twitch in his pants. He swallowed around a thick lump of arousal in his throat. Had the man seen his predicament?

He didn't have much time to think about it as his thoughts were soon drowned out my loud, metal, repetitive music and the sound of a loud group of men shouting and applauding. He felt himself flush when he realized that the crowd consisted of only males. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in men… he just hadn't gone down that road before. And yet here he was standing in a gay strip club surrounding by men eyeing him up with a deep seated hunger raging in their eyes. He shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring some of the looks he – or rather his cane – was getting. He glanced around the crowd in search of his mysterious stranger. When he couldn't find him his heart dropped like a stone in his chest, and a feeling of great despair washed over him.

He sighed and wandered over to the bar, ordering a bog standard beer. He might as well get a drink and wait it out. If he didn't find his stranger by the time he'd drunk his pint then he'd hobble out of the hell hole he'd found himself in. The bar tender passed him over his pint with a loud grunt. "You might wanna make your way to the front. You're gonna miss all the action otherwise."

John raised an eyebrow at the bartender's words. "Action?" He mumbled to himself, softly shaking his head. He took a small sip of his beer just as the whole club seemed to roar to life. The screams, shouts, and excited atmosphere grew louder and more intense. The choruses of a peculiar sounding name rose higher and higher. Something beginning with a S? Sher-? Sherlock? Ah, that's it! The lights at the front grew a little brighter and John found his curiosity lifted. He shifted slightly and turned to face the front to see what all the commotion was all about, taking another sip of his beer. He quickly regretted taking that sip as he spat it out again at the sight that lay before him.

His stranger was up on the small stage at the front and he was looking right at him, a huge grin lighting up his angelic features. John groaned at the sight of the man's nimble fingers slowly stripping away the far too tight leather clothes. His breath hitched with each square inch of bare flesh revealed. John was almighty pleased to see a bit of brown fluff covering the younger man's pale chest. He watched as each item of clothing was carefully and beautifully removed with the expert ease of a man who had been doing this for years. "Dear lord." John mumbled as he the last of the leather outfit was removed, leaving the curly haired man completely naked bar a red thong that barely held everything in.

John drank the gorgeous sight in greedily and his felt a genuine smile tugging against his features as he watched the man put on a show. He took this time to study the man carefully. He really was quite a delightful sight to watch. He was tall with well-defined muscles, though he was a little on the skinny side. Maybe that's why he was so popular, John mused. He looked rather vulnerable up on stage. That vulnerability almost added to his sexiness. His skin was gleaming in a thin sheen of sweat already and his brilliant eyes were scanning the crowd – and God he kept on locking eyes with John. John was becoming increasingly weak kneed and light headed.

The man – Sherlock- began to wiggle his hips in what was probably supposed to be a seductive way but on his tall frame look quite ridiculous. Adorably ridiculous, John decided. Then he sauntered up to a silver pole that up till now John hadn't taken much notice of. Sherlock winked at the crowd – no – he specifically winked at John. John gripped onto the bar till his knuckles were white and tried to block out the new wave of roars and shouts as the man on stage worked his crowd into a wild frenzy.

John watched with his mouth open agape as the tall man gripped onto the pole and levered himself up onto it, bending himself into a shape that couldn't have been comfortable but looked painfully effortless for him. John wasn't even bothering trying to fight his arousal now. His trousers were painfully tight and he just knows that his face has become a permanent beet red. Looking around he isn't the only one affected by what was going happening on stage.

Sherlock was dancing around the pole now, bending and contorting into all sorts of strange yet oddly arousing positions. The music was softer now or maybe it was because John was solely focused on the center of the stage and the way the man was currently shaking his arse in the air. The movements he was making were slow but confident and precise. And then – oh God- John watched as the gorgeous man slid to the bottom of the pole, his hips giving a teasing last wiggle as his knees hit the floor with a gentle thud. The poor man was exhausted, his chest heaving in and out, his pale skin now flushed with a rosy pink colour, beads of sweat shining in the midst of his chest hair, his curls draped wildly over his eyes.

The show was over.

John felt a surge of disappointment rocket through him. He'd been enjoying himself far too much. But his spirits soon found their selves lifted as he heard a deep baritone rumble down his ear and for a second time he was told to follow the elusive stranger. For a second time John obeyed without question.

He was led into a dimly lit room and forced to sit on a chair. He stared up at the man and moaned softly at the sight of him semi naked; his strong and well-toned chest exposed whilst his slender legs and bottom was squeezed into those too tight leather biker trousers once more. John was practically hyperventilating now. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing. He wasn't quite sure what to expect. What he hadn't expected was for the man to drop into his lap and kiss him breathless. It was quite different to kissing a woman but not all unpleasant – just different. All the while John kept on telling himself that he wasn't gay in the slightest. He could appreciate a beautiful body when he saw it but that didn't make him gay. He didn't expect the question the stranger asked when he pulled away to allow John to catch his breath either. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan." John choked out, licking his lips nervously as the stranger began writhing on his lap. "How did you-" He found himself cut off my rough lips once more. He couldn't quite complain and he even found himself indulging in the kiss. The voice inside his head chanting that he was 'definitely not gay' faded away into a small buzz at the back of his mind. His tongue flickered out and traced the plump cupid bow and he found himself liking kissing this man more and more.

"How did I know? I didn't know. I noticed. Now do shut up so I can kiss those delightful lips of yours."

John whined. He found himself surprisingly unhappy about the fact the kiss had been interrupted and begging for more. "Who – "He gasped out. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective." Sherlock smiled a wide smile and his chest puffed out proudly.

"This isn't – uh – your- oh fuck -day job then?" John whimpered as he felt a cool hand unbuckling his belt and diving beneath the waistband, slender fingers wrapping around his cock.

"Certainly not." Sherlock scoffed and pulled a face, the idea seeming completely absurd to him. John couldn't help but kiss that adorable pout away.

"It was your first time on stage? Bloody hell you were fantastic." John whimpered as the hand around his cock began working him. The man now straddling him certainly knew what he was doing.

"I like to think I have many talents." A soft purr left the man's lips and travelled through John's whole body, causing him to shiver and shudder.

"I bet you do." John panted, his hips beginning to jerk upwards at their own accord. Right now he wasn't bothered about the fact a man was currently wanking him to completion. It just felt right and god dammit, who was he kidding? Everything felt amazing. The hand was slightly rougher than the texture he was used to but the added friction was welcomed. Suddenly and all too soon he was cumming in thick strips all over the man he's met barely an hour ago.

"Beautiful." Sherlock whispered and slid off of John and back up to his feet. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to John's greyish-blonde hair and smiled softly.

"Thank you." John breathed out heavily, his head falling backwards over the top of the chair he was sat on. He felt insanely dirty and the inside of his pants and trousers were completely ruined, but overall he felt sated and more satisfied and content than he'd felt in a long while.

"No. Thank you. You just helped me solve a case." Sherlock pulled out a slim phone smart phone from his back pocket and raised it to his ear. "Hello. Lestrade? Ah good. I think I've found your killer. It's the bartender. Yes. I know the evidence all leads to one of the strippers but that's the thing about evidence; it can be tampered with and changed. Just trust me on this. When have I ever been wrong?" He ended the call with a frustrated sigh and John stared at him in amazement and horror.

"Wait- the bartender is a murderer? Is that why you kept on looking at me?" John felt deeply hurt. The man had used him to solve a case. He wasn't interested in him at all. The sneaky hand job had just been a mean of thanks. (Not that John had enjoyed it all that much. After all he was as straight as an arrow.)

"You fitted the criteria for his kills. You're an older man, quite short, and you're blonde. You were quite perfect for the job."

"I was bait?!" John exclaimed, feeling more hurt and enraged by the minute.

"And what a delightful job you did as playing bait." The man was smiling at him though right now John doubted it was a genuine smile. John huffed unhappily and stood to his feet, quite prepared to leave before what dignity he had left was torn from him. cool fingers grasped his wrist. "You're looking for little bit more excitement, yes?"

John sighed heavily, a small frown forming on his face. "I suppose I am."

"Then come and live with me."

John blinked at the man. He wasn't quite sure if he'd heard correctly. "We barely know each other, we've only just met, and you want me to come and live with you?"

"Naturally. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." Sherlock studied him with wide eyes and John stared at him. What he saw was a reflection of himself. This man was bored, he was so alone, an outcast of society, and he had one tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes. John felt himself melt into a puddle of goo.

"Alright, fine. I'm not promising you anything but I'll come and check the place out." John sighed, giving in.

"Does tomorrow sound ok?"

"Tomorrow sounds fine, yes."

"Fantastic! I'll text you the details."

With an artful spin Sherlock sauntered out of the room, leaving John completely dumbstruck.

"I'm not actually gay!" He managed to call out.

"And I'm not actually a stripper!"

John smiled and a burst of laughter emptied from his lips. He felt hopelessly at peace and happy, and though he probably wouldn't admit it he was quite excited about getting to know the consulting detective a little better.


End file.
